


During the Victory Tour

by NephilimEQ



Series: The Missing Scenes [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Complete, F/M, Hayniss Aberdeen, Missing Scene, Mostly Canon Compliant, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Some angst, fanfiction gaps, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephilimEQ/pseuds/NephilimEQ
Summary: Katniss has nightmares, but only one person kept them away for her...and it wasn't Peeta.





	During the Victory Tour

 

** During the Victory Tour **

The first time I wake up screaming, I am on the train on our Victory Tour.

I can feel a pair of hands on my arms, attempting to calm me down, their voice whispering calming words into my ear, trying to placate me, trying to make me settle, but I am still too disoriented to respond.  I assume that it’s Peeta, but I want nothing to do with him.

In fact, in moments like this, I hate him because of the fact that he came out of the games unscathed.  He doesn’t have the nightmares like I do.

I try to pry my arms from his grip, but then I hear…

“Sweetheart, please, just for me, wake up just for me…c’mon, sweetheart…”

And that’s when I realize that it’s Haymitch in my room, not Peeta. It’s Haymitch.  Not Peeta.

Slowly, I wake up, internally relieved at the fact that it is Haymitch, and not Peeta, who is here in the room with me.  He knows the pain that I am going through; he, too, shares my pain and all of my problems, and for that I am grateful.

He looks at me.

I look back at him.

For once I welcome the Seam gray eyes that meet mine, instead of trying to look away from them, and I lean my head against his shoulder, sighing when I feel his right arm wrap around my shoulders and his left one wrap around my lower back.

My hands come up to his chest, and we stay like that for a long time.

I breathe in, deeply, and can smell his scent through his shirt.  This should be uncomfortable, this closeness with Haymitch, bit it isn’t.  It’s the closest thing I have felt to safe in a long time.

He begins to absently run his fingers over my lower back, reassuring me in the only way he can, and even though I know that I should be uncomfortable with the intimacy of his touch, I find that I can’t be and that I am entirely comfortable with having him here in my bed in the early darkness, grateful for his presence.

After a long time of silence, his hand continuously reassuring me throughout it, he drops his arm and I feel him pulling away, standing up to leave, but I reach up and place a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“No,” I say, surprising myself with my words.  “Stay.”

He simply nods and sits back down and then lays down on the bed, drawing me to him, and I let his arms come around me, simply holding me, my back pressing to his chest.

I sink back against him, and, for the first time since the Games, I feel complete.

Whole.

And I don’t know why.

I sleep the rest of night without a single nightmare.

\--

The second time I wake up screaming on the train, just a few nights later, Peeta comes into the room.

“It was just a dream, I’m sorry,” I say, hoping that he will leave me alone, and he just nods.

“It’s okay.  I get ’em, too.”

I know he is lying.  Trying to reassure me that I’m not alone.  But he doesn’t know; not the way that Haymitch does.  That thought gives me pause, and I wonder why I am suddenly comparing the two to each other and what it might mean.

Just as I am about to put a reason as to why I’m doing it, I cut off my train of thought by calling out to Peeta as he is about to leave the room.

“Peeta…will you stay with me?” I ask, knowing that he will say yes, because he is just that good of a person, and he does.

Even as he settles in next to me, I feel a flicker of doubt in my mind, and I am now comparing his presence to that of my mentor’s and it hurts me to find Peeta lacking.  It’s not his fault, it’s simply the way he is, and I hold in a soft sound of disappointment.

Haymitch is solid, comforting, someone that I can easily lean into without worrying about being judged or pitied…but Peeta is not.  He is more yielding, even with his strong arms around me, his grip is not tight, but loose, hesitant, as though afraid I am going to change my mind, and I can feel my body tense for a moment as I lean into him, my shoulder pointing towards his chest.  With Haymitch, I have no fear about turning my back on him, but with Peeta…I don’t trust myself.

If I wake up in the throes of another nightmare, I could hurt him.  I need to be ready to push myself away, to easily break free from his hold if I have to.  Haymitch can take anything I might throw at him and more, but Peeta cannot.

For all of his strength, he will never use it against me.

Just like in the games.

It’s not that he won’t.

He can’t.

But Haymitch will, so long as it keeps me from hurting myself.

And, I know that if I look at him right now, instead of meeting broken, Seam gray eyes like my own, I will meet blue ones, as pure as a summer sky on a cloudless day.  As pure as they can still be after everything they’ve seen…more pure than anyone has ever been coming out of the Games.  And there will be pity. 

And because of that, I know that I can’t look at him.

Haymitch is right.

I don’t deserve him.

My thoughts once more on my mentor, I come to a cold realization…  No one can heal either of us.  Haymitch and I are both scarred; not just physically, but emotionally.

It’s easy enough for us to put on the nice clothes and plaster on the smiles, but, unlike Peeta, there is nothing underneath to support the farce of the emotion that we put up.  We are both hollow shells; empty and unable to either give or receive any kind of affection from someone like Peeta, or from anyone else who hasn’t been touched by the Games.

I hear Peeta’s breath even out and I know he has fallen asleep, but I remain awake, terrified that my nightmares will return.

He says he has nightmares, but I am certain that the only ones he has are of losing me.  Either in the Games or outside of them, that is his biggest fear.

Which is why I can’t leave him.

And I hate myself for it.  It is unfair to him, but I know that it’s what he wants, so I will give it to him for as long as I can, even though I know that I have nothing to give him from within my hollow shell; no emotion at all, let alone any love.

Haymitch enters my mind and I suddenly understand why he has never had anyone in his life.

Why have someone in your life when you have nothing left to give them?

However, I think of three nights before, when Haymitch stepped into my room.  Unlike Peeta, he had not hesitated and had simply walked over to me and held me, not bothering to ask what was wrong or if he was even wanted.  He simply knew what to do.  And, in that moment, I think we both understood something profound.  Once the Games change you, they change you for the rest of your life…and broken souls can only understand those who are broken.

As soon as I come to the thought, my eyes start to drift close, but no matter how I fight it, I fall to sleep, my eyelids dragging me down to blissful darkness.

\--

I wake up screaming again, and Peeta tries to calm me…and, just I feared last night, I claw at his hands and his arms, pushing him away, and I only fully wake up when I hear him cry out in pain.

I blink my eyes a few times and see fierce red scratches along his forearm that are bleeding, and I cringe, pulling back from him as quickly as I can and sitting up on the bed.

“Peeta, I’m so sorry…I didn’t--”

He cuts me off.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s my fault.  I shouldn’t have tried to do that to you while you were still like that.  I should know better…”

He plasters on a smile, but I can see the wounded look that flickers in his eyes for only a fraction of a second, and I swallow back the rebuttal that I know I am about to say and instead say, “You…you should get that looked at.  Wouldn’t want you marked up during the Tour…”

He simply nods.

“Yeah, I’ll go do that,” he says, and I watch as he gets up from the bed and walks out of my room, silently wishing I had the strength to follow him, to make sure he is alright, but I can’t.

As soon as the door slides shut behind him, I let out a long breath, as though I had been holding it the entire time.

Only a few seconds pass and the door opens to reveal Haymitch, looking slightly haggard, and I know that he’s drunk because I can smell the alcohol on his breath even from across the room. 

He stares at me for a moment, and then manages to say with only slightly slurred speech, “He’s been stayin’ the night with you, huh?” For no apparent reason, I feel shame and I can feel my face flush red.  I am glad that it is dark, so that he can’t see my reaction, but as his eyes lock on mine I feel as though he already knows exactly how I am reacting.  The silence stretches even further, and then he says, “Looks like you got ‘im this time…”

I realize that he must have passed Peeta in the hall and seen the scratches…and then I realize that the reason why he’s come to my room is because he heard me scream.

I simply stare at him.

He stares right back.

Finally, unable to bear the unspoken accusation in his eyes, I say, “We’ve only been sleeping, that’s all,” not sure why I feel the need to defend myself.  I feel, again, for some unknown reason, like I have betrayed him in some way by letting Peeta stay with me.

He seems to feel it, too, because he moves further into the room, stumbling to the end of the bed and clumsily sitting on the edge, using a hand to brace himself, and I try not to shudder when he reaches out his other hand to touch my leg, which is bare above the covers.  I wear only a blue shirt and white short pants that cover only part of my upper thigh, leaving me feeling even more exposed around him than I usually do, even when I’m fully clothed.

His thumb traces along my leg for a moment, and then he pulls back and simply stares at me.

“Nightmares came back, huh?”

I know what he is implying with his words.  That when _he_ was there, the nightmares never were, but with Peeta, they came back…and I resent him for the implication.  It was his fault, anyway, that I’ve had to turn to Peeta.  Haymitch is unreliable, at best, so Peeta is the best that I can do.  And besides, Peeta loves me.  Haymitch…

…well, I don’t know what Haymitch feels, but it’s not the same way that Peeta does.

He suddenly moves up the bed and leans in close, his breath brushing against my lips, and I am overwhelmed by the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath.  Come morning, he will most likely not remember a single thing from tonight.

“Well, then, sweetheart,” he says, staring at me in a way that I don’t quite understand, “Good luck…”

And with that, he leaves the room, leaving me more than confused by his words.

The look he gave me reminds me of the moment we had in the training room, and that bothers me more than I care to admit.  There was the same look in his eyes, but tonight it seemed to be torn, more bitter, but I let it go.  He was drunk and I can’t hold him responsible for his actions.

All too soon, Peeta is back.

As he slides back into the bed next to me, I try not to compare…but all I can think is that I wish a different pair of arms were here.  The ones that kept the nightmares away.  But the instant I think it, I brush it to the side.

Peeta is my fate, now, and I must accept it.  I will learn to love him, if I can, and I will forget about the few nights Haymitch kept my nightmares from my dreams.

As I fall asleep, I smell white liquor.

 

 


End file.
